


you'll see//wait for me

by bareunloveliness



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Era, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Guitarist Enjolras, Hadestown References, Inspired by Hadestown, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Multi, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining Grantaire (Les Misérables), Unhealthy Relationships, musician enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bareunloveliness/pseuds/bareunloveliness
Summary: A Hadestown!AU Enjoltaire fic where Grantaire is brought to Hadestown by Hades and it's up to Enjolras to bring him back.
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. what we have we have to share

**Author's Note:**

> I recorded a cover of "Wait For Me" in the point of view of Enjolras and the idea just kind of kept going. I do have betas, but bare with me! My Tumblr is @bareunloveliness and you can find me on Twitter @winterwindsings.

The bottle didn't leave his side, nor did his private affections for the man raving before him, some tangent that Grantaire was closely following- his eyes attached to the other's lips, but ears equally attentive to his words.

"That is no world to live in," the man was saying, arms firm against his sides, the stillness containing a power that may have been lost with wild gestures. "to work in a factory- it's a prison. Convicts have lived better lives."

It was true enough, but easier said when you could afford the belief that the world would get better. All Grantaire could afford, he thought to himself, was the comforting, bottomless bottle in his hand.

"I'll drink to that," he said genuinely, raising it up with half a smile, whole in Enjolras' light. While there were holes in Enjolras' plan, he was, at this point, happy to grab a needle and fix them.

"As if you need a reason," Enjolras bit back, the smallest hint of venom in his voice. He wasn't a man full of hate, but of rage and hurt. The two had that in common. "You do not make appearances here for the politics, and I accept that shortcoming about you, but do not try to deceive us all to believe otherwise."

Grantaire's eyebrow furrowed, as he realized that his one shortcoming that Enjolras would accept wasn't even founded on truth. "You'd be wrong to grant me so little credit, Apollo, for I care deeply about your causes as long as they, like I, belong to you."

"Do not mock me now," Enjolras spit, two different species of heat filling both men. He turned back away from Grantaire, a habit of his, and faced his fellow students. "Hades does not care about any of us. Our petty lives are jugs of sweat and tears for him to put to use. We are but flesh to him, despite the rapturous beating of our steadfast hearts."

A cheer broke out, and even the bartender, a quiet woman who they never bothered to learn the name of, was grinning at them, her tongue caught between her teeth as she peered on. Flowers lined her hair, a braid down her back, as she watched them dream. It was an old pastime of hers that she had grown out of, but it was endearing to see the next generation think they could fix the world. Maybe they could.

"Anybody want a drink?" she asked as Enjolras made his way over to the bar. "You boys are going to be here all night again, aren't you?"

"We could never stray too long from the Mussain's glimmering soul," Enjolras said, ambiguous in his words. Whether he was lighting a spark with the bartender or his adoration was for the small pub she ran, he was burning out. "You let us drink and you let us be merry here for no fee, as long as we bring you joy. Let us drink in your name, tonight, Madame."

"It's not just joy, Enjolras," she told him with the laugh of silver bells. "It's music. Play us a song, enrich our empty lives!"

"Please, Apollo," Grantaire added on softly. He didn't want to be heard- he never needed to be. Another core difference between the two men who center our story. He reached behind the table to Enjolras' guitar, an old instrument with a long life behind it. The strings were worn and Enjolras wore the callouses to match. Endless nights owed their pleasure to the piece, and it almost had a soul of its own. "Give us a reason to live."

"Don't call me that- I am no god. However, I will sing for the Madame." he spoke sharply, taking it from Grantaire. Their hands brushed for a moment, but only the brunette noticed. He drank. 

Enjolras, on the other hand, plucked a simple enough tab as his lilting tenor voice told the story of Hades and Patria and the way their love turned as cold as the winter months that started to span longer and longer as the years went by.

The bartender began to weep and Grantaire felt her tears in every inch of his soul, although he did not move to comfort her, as he was transfixed by his Apollo. Who could focus on another life when he sang? Who could help but bask in his reckless optimism?

The melody was simple and clear, and hung in the late summer air for a moment too short, until applause broke out and Grantaire wished he could live in that night forever. That time would never pass and the world would not exist outside of the Mussain. That men would not exist outside of Enjolras and his friends. That he would never leave that place.

His wishes were deeply in vain.

Conversation continued to reign, Enjolras walking around and making sure no man was ignored and all had a chance to speak to their fearless leader. He assumed one man wouldn't care for such a chance. Every night when Enjolras did his rounds, he walked past Grantaire. And every night, Grantaire watched him.

"Excuse me," Grantaire said after a long moment once the other had moved onto a different friend. Enjolras looked back at him. "Aren't you going to ask me what I thought of tonight's talk?"

"I much prefer my sanity," Enjolras laughed, assuming such a question was a joke. He excused himself and sat in the booth with the lonely man. "I think you've had enough of wine's joys tonight, Grantaire." He spoke softly, his concern almost audible.

"Ask me what I thought of tonight's lecture." He replied, knuckles whitening around the neck of his bottle. 

"Why don't you-"

"Why don't you ask me? You pass over me night after night and have never once given half of a damn about my thoughts. Do you think me a fool? Do you consider me a man who doesn't think at all? Have you any idea how dutifully I listen to you, how deeply I venerate you?"

Enjolras paused for a moment, collecting his words. He didn't want to yell. He didn't want the bottle thrown at his head. He rarely thought his responses through, able to shatter arguments off the top of his head, but he considered that this moment might require a more tender touch. 

"Grantaire," He said, to buy himself a moment longer. "what  _ did _ you think of tonight's lecture? Your thoughts, which I am certain that you possess, matter to me." He was testing the waters, unsure what fight the other man was trying to pick at this particular moment. He wanted to be prepared enough to win once he knew where they were headed.

Instead of a fight, Grantaire softened. He lowered his guard, fingers releasing the glass from his fist, and his eyes widened slightly to see the humanity in Enjolras that was so uncommon on the surface. It was almost vulnerable- to see both of them in such a state of  _ trying _ .

"I think you misunderstand the appeal of Hades," Grantaire said, words slurring as much as they always did. "One would rather be nothing but working flesh than rotting." No, that wasn't what he meant to say. Not quite. "He doesn't care about us, but wouldn't you rather live in a factory than die in a meadow?" His arguments weren't what he wanted them to be, but at least Enjolras was listening to him.

And at that moment, Enjolras realized that Grantaire was listening to  _ him _ . All the lectures, every night, the empty drunk was listening. Possibly even stretching into caring. He hesitated in his answer, but the shock over his eyes as he tried to read Grantaire gave away his reasoning. He didn't know this entire time. However, there is a difference between knowing and believing.

"Yes," he replied. "I would. I cannot understand the desire to live at all if it's going to be in a place so dark and pointless. I would sooner bleed out in a field, I think, yes. But I don't believe those are the only options- if we make a better world, if we rely on each other for love and support, we can live in the meadow forever."

Love and support. Grantaire almost laughed. 

"Why are you making that face?" Enjolras asked.

Grantaire thought he was hiding his disagreement better, but he must have been wrong. "I believe in the cause, and I mean it when I say that I have never believed in anyone the way I believe in you, Apollo, but it's so very hard to dream about a better world while sleeping in the street."

Enjolas and Grantaire had both been targets of Jehan and Marius' kindness and open doors, but neither of them possessed a permanent address, nor more than a meal a day. The bartender spoiled them and their empty stomachs. Enjolras spent so much of his day writing speeches and working on his songs that he hardly noticed his body crying out for more. 

Grantaire, on the other hand, was feeble. His ghostly skin stretched across his bones. The alcohol brought color back, but if you were looking, you could see the struggle.

"I have no trouble," Enjolras shrugged, unsurprised that the pessimistic beliefs of Grantaire's would return to the surface of the fight. "Perhaps you could do with less drink and more spirit."

"Perhaps you could understand that I am _hungry_. You don't see us perishing before your eyes because you are so focused on how we may aid your revolution! We are dying, Apollo."  
"Stop calling me that. I am simply a man."

"And that's why you are dying with us. I would love a brighter world as much as I would love- would love anyone, but it isn't coming around. It's almost October. We can't survive another winter on the streets. You know we can't."

"And you know that you are not capable of love. I am done with this conversation." Enjolras rose from his seat, cheeks hot with anger. 

Grantaire set his bottle down and reached up to grab Enjolras' hand in a desperate attempt to be seen. "Apollo, I-"

In a swift movement, Enjolras grabbed the bottle and slammed it against the table like a wave crashing against the sand. "Don't call me that."

Silence shuddered through the room, eyes turning to the red wine mixing with Enjolras blood from the sharp edges of the broken green glass in his hand. Grantaire looked up at him, eyes wet with fear.

"I am hungry," he repeated with a broken voice as he stood up, an inch away from Enjolras. "But you are terrible."

And yet that did not change Grantaire's adoration, even as he turned and left the Mussain without looking behind himself.

Just outside, the bartender stood in a long coat, shivering in the night's breeze. Her covering wasn't thick, but she would need it for her journey.

"There's a carriage on its way," she told Grantaire. "I can't miss it. I like to leave during that boy's song. Everyone fixtates on him and I slip away in the shadows." A suitcase sat on the ground next to her small feet.

"Why must you slip away?" Grantaire asked, leaning against a single streetlight for support. 

"So men like you don't meet the man in the carriage."

"Men like me?"

"I'm afraid you'd make a grave mistake."


	2. the way is dark and long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire makes the strongest decision he can.

The streetlight flickered as a carriage pulled up to the intoxicated pair. Grantaire lost his breath for a moment, adoring the romantic mystery of it all. The carriage blended into the darkness, black as the never ending night. Even the horse was majestic, as it silently stopped in front of The Mussian.

A man, tall and stoic, stepped out of the carriage. He wore a black suit that was perfectly fitted to him, as well as an extravagant hat with a white plume. It was reminiscent of a policeman.

"You're early," the bartender said quietly, but she held her suitcase regardless. She did not advance towards him. They were equally cold and distant. Grantaire watched in silent awe at the secrets that hid in plain sight.

The man's vow was low, a bass tone that tumbled out into the thin air. "I missed you. Who is your friend?"

"He was just on his way back inside, to see his friends. To see Enjolras." The bartender did her best to remind Grantaire what was waiting for him, but his glazed eyes recognized who stood before him.

"Hades." He said simply. "You're Hades."

"So you've heard of me," he growled. "Patria, give me a moment."

She looked at Grantaire helplessly, knowing that if she stepped away, he would step into the carriage. Grantaire focused on the man in front of him, and did not look at his friend. She exhaled for a beat before turning away, going back inside.

"A young man like you deserves a better fate than passing out in the snow." Hades said matter-of-factly, as if that was certain to happen. "You don't look like you'll make it past the winter. And you look like you know it too."

"You don't know me. I don't deserve better than that." He wasn't sure why he spoke so honestly- was it the gin in his system or the man's piercing eyes? 

"You're a meadowlark, son. You deserve to eat. You deserve luxury."

"With all due respect, Hades, you don't know what you're saying." Grantaire swallowed, the pleasant buzz of drink wearing off and leaving him cold and empty. 

"I know more than you credit me for, meadowlark." He said with the smallest laugh in his throat. "Fine. Say you don't deserve to live. You certainly don't deserve to die with him."

Hades eyes flickered to the window of the Mussain, where Enjolras sat on a table, candlelight illuminated every chiseled feature on his face. He was smiling, laughing at something that Combferre had said, and he didn't seem to notice that Grantaire was gone.

Grantaire looked back at the window for a moment, heart swelling with- well, he wasn't quite sure. He agreed with the mysterious man on those grounds. He did not deserve his Apollo.

"And what do you suppose I do?"

"Fly south for the winter. Patria and I will be returning to Hadestown. You'd be a great addition there- and there's always enough food and drink to spare. I can't imagine your  _ amis _ would miss you too fondly."

"Do I have to decide right now?" Grantaire asked hoarsely, shocked at his own ability to consider this.

Hades pulled a small bag of coins out of his pocket. "Find Hermes. You'll know him when you see him- he wears a mark across his chest. He'll bring you down when you give him this. We look forward to spending the season with you. Patria!"

His voice rang clear as the bartender stumbled back out of the Mussain, clearly using her remaining time in France to drink. Hades brought her suitcase into the carriage and she paused for a moment to look at Grantaire, and noticed the money in his hand.

"R, please, think-"

"Patria!"

She stepped into the carriage and they were both gone, leaving Grantaire alone with nothing but his name and that stupid, pathetic bottle in his hand. 

He gazed out into the darkness, wondering what was out there for him. After what felt like hours, he turned back to the Mussain.

Some of his friends had left, not noticing the drunk hanging around a streetlight, but Enjolras remained. He was always the last one to leave, making sure everyone is on their way home safely- there was a lot of trouble one could get into before the sun awoke. Grantaire made his way back inside, stumbling over himself ever so slightly, to meet the man in red one last time.

"Grantaire?" He said, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder as he whipped around, startled like a doe. "I hope you have had a moment to yourself to consider our previous interaction. I- I appreciate the way you listen."

"And did you listen? To anything that I said?" He said, blinking. He felt intoxicated on the idea of freedom with Hades- like the world he was in right now was only a dream. He could feel alive in Hadestown.

"May I speak freely?" Enjolras asked, his tongue tracing his lower lip and his eyes sweeping the floor. 

Grantaire hesitated. "I would never ask you to speak any other way." He held Apollo's name on the tip of his tongue. "Please."

"I did- I did listen." he tried to find the right words. "I never thought, before, that you were worth listening to. And for that I was wrong and I am truly apologetic." He seemed to be genuine, but for the worst.

"You're fucking apologetic?" Grantaire spit, rage filling his chest like air. He was picking a fight- God, why did he always have to pick a fight? He didn't know how to talk to Enjolras if he wasn't yelling, how to relate to Enjolras if he wasn't arguing, or how to love Enjolras if he wasn't angry. Grantaire's impossible decision was already made. He wasn't seeking a reason to stay- he was giving Enjolras a reason to let him go. "You didn't think I deserved to have a voice, even though you always say that is the one thing man is entitled to? Do you think me below a man, Enjolras?"

"You misunderstand me, friend." Enjolras said, cheeks flushing red. He tried to remain rational, but Grantaire got on his nerves- rather, Grantaire  _ lived _ on his nerves. "I'm  _ trying _ to say that I'm sorry."

"No, I understand you just  _ fine _ , and I'm only upset because I agree. And that's why you'll never- you'll never l _ isten _ to me. Because you and I are both certain that I don't deserve to be treated like a man. I'm not capable of love, and nobody is capable of loving me. That is what we both believe now, isn't it?"

A beat.

Grantaire's skin was hot to the touch, but nobody would find out. He allowed the alcohol to fill his body and the anger to fill his soul. "Fucking isn't it?" There was a tone of pleading in his voice, but it was overshadowed by the reality of the situation.

Enjolras didn't realize that Grantaire was screaming at him until they were inches apart and he could see the tears rise in Grantaire's sallow face. "No. I don't believe that."

"Liar." Grantaire spat on him, turning away and taking a swig, wondering where he could find Hermes. "You will never recognize that there is power for something rotten to transform into something beautiful unless it's France's republic. And that is a way to live for you, but it's a road to death for me."

"You speak in such riddles, distractedly." Enjolras commented. "I know the idea of someone caring about you for a reason other their own guilty conscience is foreign to you but-"

Grantaire looked out the window, envious of the night. "Apollo. I do not blame you for not caring about me. I wouldn't- no, I don't care for myself either. I only blame you for not seeing how infatuated I am with you."

"You're drunk."

"You're terrible."

In which Enjolras proves Grantaire to be correct:

"Then leave. I do not wish to humor your tirades anymore."

To send a man who desperately needs a moment of empathy and compassion on his way is the first step to losing your mind. And Grantaire obeyed, a bitter smirk painted across his face, having gotten what he wanted. He stumbled out the door, and he looked back for a moment. Enjolras just stared, stone-cold. 

And as Grantaire left the Mussain, he started down the street to- well, to nowhere. He mumbled to himself, passing by a bench where a man sat. The man hummed for a moment, and it wasn't until Grantaire was a few paces away when he recognized the melody. It was the same song that Enjolras had played that night- like a whisper in the branches. When Grantaire turned to face the man, he saw an inch of a number on the man's chest, peeking out of his jacket.

"Hermes." Grantaire said, feeling the weight of the coins in his pocket.

"It didn't take you too long to find me, to forget about the life behind you, did it?" the man almost laughed, but there was something kind and gentle in his eyes. Wrinkles threatened to stretch across his face, but only from years of contentment.

"I'll never forget the life behind me. I will never forget about him." Grantaire promised to himself. He sat down beside Hermes and offered him a drink, which he politely declined.

"When one stands on a bridge, there's a pull for them to simply fall." Hermes spoke. "Your mind plays tricks- it wants to make the most powerful choice it can whenever it can. It wants to feel in control in a world where it knows it has none."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're about to make the most powerful choice you can, aren't you?"

"I have the coins," Grantaire said, fishing the small pouch from his trouser pocket with a rushed certainty. "You have to take me with you. To Hades. Away from here. From Apollo."

"I suppose I do." Hermes took the bag and inspected its contents for a moment, eyes flickering back to Grantaire. "Shall we go?"

"I'm already gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I didn't make it SUPER clear, here are the characters:  
> Orpheus - Enjolras  
> Eurydice - Grantaire  
> Hades - Javert  
> Persephone - Patria/Paris  
> Hermes - Jean Valjean  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I love comments but you don't have to leave one if you don't want to.


	3. pluck your heart right out your chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras realizes that Grantaire isn't coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning shit hits the fan

If you were to look out the window of the Cafe Musain, would not know there were two men sitting on that bench not five minutes prior. The snow had already filled in their footprints, covering the traces of life.

If you were to look inside the window of the Cafe Musain, you would see Enjolras. He wasn't surprised when Grantaire walked out- isn't that all a man like that can do? Leave? Nothing about the situation at hand struck him as odd or unusual, as the last of his friends started the way home. Flurries of snowflakes landed on their heads and chilled them to the bone, but Enjolras pretended as if he wasn't shivering under his thin coat. 

"Courf?" he said, as Jehan and Marius were speaking wildly about something or another. "I'd like to ask a favor that you must never speak of again." He didn't quite understand why worry waved over him, but he couldn't deny that it did. 

"It's not like you to want to bury your words," Courfeyrac commented. "What's the matter?"

"If Grantaire doesn't return home to you tonight, please come see me tomorrow and let me know. If you don't arrive, I will assume all is well and we shall consider this conversation a dream."

"You respect him, don't you? Consider him human after all this time?" Courfeyrac said. Having lived with Grantaire, he had seen into the darkness of the drunk's mind. It was something that Enjolras wouldn't understand, and Courfeyrac knew that it wasn't his place to explain it. But after enough nights of begging Grantaire to close the window and not throw his body onto the cobblestone street, Courfeyrac was far too aware of how human Grantaire truly was.

"I have always considered him a citizen- a human." Enjolras spoke plainly, trying to avoid making the conversation seem to be something it wasn't. "It has only recently struck me that he may not see himself in the same light. The man worships me, Courfeyrac. I always thought it was some crude joke. I am worried that he sees himself as less than."

Courfeyrac bit back his tongue. It wasn't his right to correct or confirm Enjolras' hypothesis. "I will alert you tomorrow if he doesn't arrive home."

Enjolras did not sleep that night, replaying the scenes over and over in his head. The pair had yelled and spat and fought hundreds of times before- why was this so different to him? 

They had both been physical with each other before- that couldn't have been it. Enjolras had smashed his fair share of bottles and Grantaire had ripped up enough speeches to ignite a fire. They had both shoved and hit each other, and there was one night where Grantaire actually managed to split Enjolras' lip, blood spilling down his chin. That could not be what kept him awake.

Grantaire had always called him Apollo, always teased that he was a god amongst men and a marble statue. There was nothing new about that. It felt more serious, more genuine tonight, but there had to have been more to it than just the horrid nickname. "I belong to you," Grantaire had said. What a cruel joke that must have been, for he always taunted Enjolras like that. That could not be what kept him awake.

_ Infatuated _ .

And just like that, he understood what kept him awake.

Something had shifted in the time that Grantaire had left the Musain, something had changed, something had happened. Respected, venerated, admired- all words that Grantaire had used before, and did not flag any alarm on Enjolras. But they were distant, at times. You could feel all those things someone impersonally- he respected Lamarque, though had never met him. 

_ I only blame you for not seeing how infatuated I am with you. _

And Enjolras had dismissed him.

He sat on the side of the mattress he claimed as his own in the corner of Jehan's one room apartment. When the sun had risen, clearing away the foggy darkness, Enjolras put on his coat and made his way outside.

He made it to Courfeyrac's place right as Courfeyrac was leaving.

"Come in, you must be frozen," he had said, removing his jacket as there was no longer any reason for him to leave. There was a fire started where Marius sat, reading an essay on Napoleon's biggest mistakes.

"What brings you here at this hour?" Marius asked, unaware of the agreement made between the two friends the night before. "It can't be later than seven."

"He's not here," Enjolras breathed, not particularly caring about Marius' presence. The hunger was getting to him after a long walk in the freezing winter air after no sleep. Enjolras was pushing his body too far- his brain struggled to grasp the reality of the situation, but his heart had a sinking feeling which he already understood. "Why is he not here?"

"He could have gone to stay with someone else last night," Marius reasoned. "Maybe Bossuet or Joly." 

Courfeyrac shook his head. "He doesn't like to impose himself on his friends- feels like a burden. The only way he would have gone home with someone is if they had invited him, and everyone else left before him. He did not stay inside last night."

Enjolras looked out the window and shivered, the soles of his feet soaked in cold. He knew that if Grantaire did not stay inside, he did not stay alive.

He did not know that Grantaire made a choice.

There was a knock at the door, although nobody was expected.

Marius rose to his feet and answered it, allowing Courfeyrac to stay and comfort Enjolras without asking why he was so affected. Courfeyrac had a habit of helping his friends with limited questions. 

"Monsieur-" Marius bit his tongue to stop from saying 'Leblanc' as he recognized the man on the other side of the doorway. 

"Grantaire?" Enjolras called, hoping it was him returning at last to his home- where people who loved him waited.

"The leader in red." the man greeted, a kind and disappointed smile on his elderly face. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Anger rose in his voice, but the man had a point- Enjolras didn't expect it himself. He still didn't understand all of the feelings that had risen in him the night before. He only just came to a conclusion about how Grantaire felt about him- but he was clueless in how he felt about the other. "My friend is missing."

"You have lots of friends." The man reasoned. "And since when was the drunk I met last night your friend?"

Enjolras rushed to his feet- he had never seen the older man before in his life. "You met him last night? Do you know where he went?"

"Unfortunately, I do. You ever heard of Hadestown?"

And just like that, with a simple word, the world crashed down around Enjolras.

He was no longer in the apartment with his friends, but he was in the Cafe Musain. Grantaire looked at him with those eyes- heavy and somber, clearly full of so much emotion and trust that Enjolras had never noticed before.

"No, I understand you just  _ fine, _ and I'm only upset because I agree. And that's why you'll never- you'll never  _ listen _ to me." Grantaire had said, an intense heat living in his words that now haunted Enjolras. He stammered as if he meant to say something else, meant to say something more meaningful, as if he knew he would never speak to Enjolras again. "Because you and I are both certain that I don't deserve to be treated like a man. I'm not capable of love, and nobody is capable of loving me. That is what we both believe now, isn't it?"

Enjolras hadn't responded. He simply looked at Grantaire, trying desperately to read him. He understood now. He understood too clearly that Grantaire was so very capable of love and was begging Enjolras to understand that. He was begging Enjolras to recognize that he was capable of being loved. He was begging Enjolras to love him.

He didn't have to beg. Enjolras would have done it on his own.

"Fucking isn't it?"

It wasn't until that moment, their faces an inch apart, that Enjolras realized that his  _ friend _ was crying. If he had understood why, if he had only said something then. If he only held him, if he only leaned forward and kissed him.

"No. I don't believe that." He had said solemnly. He didn't have to beg. Enjolras did love him. Enjolras did not understand what the feeling filling his soul was called or he would have used its name. Enjolras did not use its name. Enjolras had killed him.

"Liar." Grantaire spat on him. Enjolras blinked it away, not seeing the gravity of the situation. It was a normal fight. It hurt, but normal fights did. "You will never recognize that there is power for something rotten to transform into something beautiful unless it's France's republic. And that is a way to live for you, but it's a road to death for me."

Looking back at the moment now, with the clarity of understanding, Enjolras felt utterly pathetic. Grantaire told him exactly what he was planning on doing, the coins weighing in his pocket. 

"You speak in such riddles, distractedly," he had replied. "I know the idea of someone caring about you for a reason other than their own guilty conscience is foreign to you but-"

_ But I care about you. _

But he didn't say that.

Grantaire looked out the window, and Enjolras looked at him. He could not see what the brunette saw- freedom just ahead.

"Apollo, I do not blame you for not caring about me. I wouldn't- no, I don't care for myself either. I only blame you for not seeing how infatuated I am with you."

No, Enjolras couldn't have heard him correctly. It wasn't possible. It was a joke. Grantaire simply forgot to laugh. It wasn't like him to say something so comical in such a serious tone. 

Enjolras wanted to scream. He was so blind. Both of them.

"You're drunk," he said instead, placing blame on alcohol to avoid accepting Grantaire's words as truth. What would they mean if they were true?

"You're terrible," he said. And Enjolras agreed. And Enjolras loved him. And Enjolras did not know.

So he said:

"Then leave. I do not wish to humor your tirades anymore."

And Grantaire smiled that wicked smile. And Grantaire loved him. And Grantaire left.

"Hadestown," Enjolras repeated in Courfeyrac and Marius' humble rooms. "He's dead."

"He called your name before he stepped into the carriage. Screamed it. Didn't even call you Apollo. Said your name. You didn't hear him." The man said. 

"I didn't know how to listen." Enjolras spoke softly, guilt setting in like a quiet storm.

The man looked at Enjolras for a moment. "How far would you go for him?"

Enjolras did not hesitate. "To the end of time. I would die for him."

"And you just might yet. There's a way to get to Hadestown. The sewer system under Paris. I can get you there."

"Who are you?"

"Hermes." The man replied. "Do you really want to go?"

"With all my heart."

Hermes laughed, but it was sweet and inspired hope to swell in Enjolras chest. He would do what he could for a pair of lovers- even go through the sewers. "Well, that's a start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite things about the book is how Hugo jumps around time- he'll tell you the same scene three times in three different points of view and with varying levels of knowledge from the reader as to who exactly is in the scene (thinking specifically of when Javert disguised himself as a beggar) or when Enjolras and Grantaire die and we see the final moments with the guard through Enjolras ' eyes and then we see Grantaire wake up and go through the final moments. I think it's really neat and I wanted to try to mimic that with this chapter. Anyway lmk what you thinK!


	4. the war is never won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras begins his journey to hell and Grantaire is already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy NaNoWriMo! Expect a lot of content from me this month, especially this fic. I'll have some other Enjoltaire stuff coming soon- it's literally all angst I'm so sorry.  
> TW Sewer system? I really don't go into detail on it because it's not super fun, but it's all implied. Also. Lots of self-loathing.

How does one prepare for a journey to hell?

Enjolras doesn't have an answer by the time he reached the edge of the sewers with Hermes, the underworld of Paris thrashing against itself in a secret sub-basement of debasement in the basin of the city. He only had his beating heart, and the name on the edge of his curled lips that he would repeat until he forgot it.

"Grantaire."

Courfeyrac gave him a hug, a final goodbye, should he not return. "I'll come back. And he'll be with me."

Courfeyrac spoke softly, half blaming himself in the words he didn't see. "I pray you're right."

_ Grantaire _ , Enjolras thought to himself before stepping into utter blindness.

_ Enjolras _ , Grantaire thought at Hades' side.  _ I've left him.  _

His stomach wasn't empty anymore, but there was something missing inside him now- his soul was left behind in Enjolras' hand. It wasn't certain to him that was a curse or a blessing.

"Join your brothers and sisters, meadowlark," Hades told him, shoving him forward roughly. "Build the wall."

Grantaire looked up at the large expanse of sky around him- rather, the enclosed tomb of his new home, darkness gathering in clouds. He was so far underground that above him, it almost seemed to be a starless sky. Candles on small carts provided the smallest hint of light. "I thought you were taking care of me." He watched others, emotionless and broken, working as silently as ants in a colony, level bricks, one by one.

"I thought you said you weren't worth it. Are you hungry anymore, meadowlark?"

"My name's Grantaire."

"Are you hungry?"

"No." The word felt like poision in his throat, like betrayal. He wasn't betraying his own ideals, but Enjolras', and that almost made it worse.

"I thought not. Why do you think we build this wall?" The taller man asked, placing a single brick in Grantaire's hands. He looked down at it, not heavy on its own.

"To keep us in, so we don't go back." Grantaire answered honestly, a flawed thought.

Hades laughed. "You don't want to go back. No, meadowlark, I want to keep you safe. You think that others aren't envious of you? With your full belly and honorable labor? Up there, you had no purpose. You had no work. You sat and felt pity and hunger. Isn't it so nice to be worth something? Finally?"

Grantaire swallowed. He looked at the neverending wall around him- it truly was an impressive feat, to show what people could achieve with a little bit of work. He placed the brick on an appropriate spot, and Hades handed him a trowel which he used to smooth out the cement. It was one small piece to something that was much bigger than he was. Was this how the revolution made Enjolras feel? Would Enjolras be proud of him yet? He placed the next brick.

_ Enjolras _ , Grantaire thought.

_ Grantaire _ , Enjolras thought, stepping into a passage of darkness.  _ Wait for me. Please. I'm on my way, I'm going to see you again _ . He only had his own thoughts to keep him company, as Hermes had gone back the safer way that he came. And his own thoughts were rotten. 

Grantaire wouldn't have believed it, that the great Apollo could be so full of self-loathing, but it was true. He wished he never said anything to Grantaire the night prior, he wished he had understood and he hated,  _ hated _ himself for not. It was something he would have forgiven in his friends, but he could not dismiss in himself.

_ He was right. I am terrible. I am beyond terrible. _ There was 

something poetic in divine justice- that the path to the redemption that Enjolras so desperately craved was so horrible. The massive blackness of the abyss swallowed him whole, feet finding the wet ground below with hesitation and more fear than he had ever known himself capable of feeling.

The great leader, the untamed Antonious, fucking Apollo, walked through a sea of years of discard and waste, and he believed that he deserved it. There was no glimmer of hope, no gleam of light in the darkness. There were only his own steps and the throbbing of guilt in his soul.

But he knew that he wasn't just following Grantaire to relieve his guilty conscience- that wouldn't have been fair to either of them. It was because, somewhere in months of hot-blooded passion and tricky tongues, Enjolras had fallen in love.

That was the one thing he didn't hate himself for as he progressed on.

_Grantaire_ , Enjolras thought, _Wait for me._ _Please_.

_ Enjolras _ , Grantaire thought,  _ if you could see me now _ .

It had been a few hours since Grantaire placed the first brick,

and it seemed like the easiest part of his task had been over. He felt a strange sense of grateful rage at the fact that someone finally found a use for him- that is to say, he only wanted to pour his heart and work out for someone, and to make a difference. It wasn't his fault he couldn't see the difference Enjolras wanted to make. He wanted to- he wanted to believe so desperately. 

Grantaire's back began to ache, and his bones were aging from lack of work- he hadn't done manual labor for years and it would be untrue to say that it didn't hurt. But he felt it was justified, so he didn't focus on it or the sweat and dust traced over his face. Pain spread through his body with every step- the bricks felt twice as heavy as when he began. But he felt he deserved it, and he kept going.

"Why are you building the wall, my son?" Hades asked him, no longer referring to him as the meadowlark. Soon Grantaire wouldn't have a name, or anything unique about him, so why should he wear the name of a distinguishable bird? What made him different than the other aching bodies in the mine?   
"To see the work. To not let it end. I don't know. Because I can't do anything else." Tears threatened to slip, but he didn't understand why. It felt like days had passed. A week. A month. He didn't know. There was no sun.

"Why do you think the others build?"

"Why do we build the wall?" He repeated mindlessly, the weight of freedom off his shoulders, unshackled to liberty. 

Hades looked at him, almost softly- yes, there was a justice and a horror to the situation, but Grantaire was still human- still. "There's an enemy, son. Don't you want to keep him out?"

"The wall keeps out enemies," Grantaire mumbled, stacking the next brick. "Better to be working flesh than a rotting corpse. Better to be safe. Better to be building a wall."

Hades smiled, a horrible sight that sent a chill through Grantaire's body, or what was left of it. "That's right."

"We build the wall to keep us free."

Free.

He could almost see the word, as it so often found a home there, on Enjolras' lips.

_ Enjolras _ .

_ Grantaire _ .

Enjolras was convinced that he should have seen the signs sooner, and the journey gave him ample time to lament on his misgivings. 

His thoughts were interrupted, flying apart, at the presence of light. He climbed up a tunnel, grasping at rocks jammed out of the walls that seemed to be closing in- thankfully dry.

He wasn't sure if he was outside, the space around him wide and full of stale air, but he saw light. Candles, flickering with movement. If he was inside, the movement would have to be- yes, he saw the motion of people. He was close and he had to stop himself from breaking into a run. He had made it to the underworld- to Hadestown- and hopefully, --- God, he hoped --- to Grantaire.

_ Grantaire _ , he hoped.

_ Enjolras _ , he prayed.

But there were no gods around- Hades had retreated back to his office, and taken Grantaire with him. He signed his name. There was no way to save him. He made the final sacrifice of his soul and his mind, his own name fading from his lips. But he didn't forget Enjolras'. He didn't forget Apollo. 

"We build the wall to keep us free. We build the wall for safety. I should be building the wall for Enjolras." He muttered to himself, eyes focused on the brick in his hand.

"Grantaire."

The name sounded like a word in a foreign language, but the voice- the voice he could not forget. He turned to see wet, golden curls stuck to a man's marble face with sweat. Grantaire stumbled back towards the wall, certain he was hallucinating. From the work. From the horror. No. His first day and he was already losing his mind.

"Apollo?"

Enjolras clasped his hand and smiled.

The smile had not ended when Grantaire broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! My Twitter is @WinterWindSings and my Tumblr is @bareunloveliness. I'm happy to take requests either in my Tumblr inbox or in a comment!!! Help me get to 50k words this month, y'all.


	5. nothing changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras isn't given a chance, so he makes one for himself.

With Grantaire's hand in his, Enjolas pulled him in for a hug and held him for a moment, not saying anything. There was nothing he had to say, he just had to feel Grantaire's heartbeat against his and know that he was alive- or as alive as he could be, given the circumstances.

Grantaire pulled away, shaking his head, "You can't be here. This isn't- I'm dead, Apollo."

"I- I thought about what you said," Enjolras confessed. "And I realized what- what you were saying." For a man who used to earn the attention of hundreds, who kept them listening with attentive ears, he couldn't find the words to say in the moment. "I'm sorry for not listening, Grantaire. Truly, I shouldn't have sent you away- not when I…" He trailed off, eyes unable to meet Grantaire's.

Grantaire thought it was some kind of sick dream, and rubbed his knuckle against the rough brick in an attempt to feel pain, or something, to try to verify that this was real. It was a sweet dream, but he was convinced that's all it was.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Enjolras managed to continue, "Before you left, you called my name. Hermes told me. I know why you did it."

"I think I've made that more than clear, why I would call-"

"No. Why you left. I pushed you. I'm to blame, Grantaire. I am so sorry." He said, swallowing hard. "You were right, I was being terrible and cruel and cold and I could have kept you safe."

"Why do you care?" Grantaire asked without thinking. He could barely understand how Enjolras managed to be there, if that was true, but he couldn't fathom why. "You wouldn't have missed me."

"I did miss you- I care so deeply, and I didn't know that until you were gone." Enjolras explained, dancing around the truth. "When Hermes told me where you went, I realized what you felt because I felt it too."

"Apollo, you cannot mean that." 

"I have never meant anything more."

Enjolras held out his hand and Grantaire took it with a sad smile. Enjolras felt his heart strings shiver like a guitar, a new melody playing in his soul. "Come back with me. I walked underground, we can go back."

Grantaire looked down at their intertwined hands, and at the ink that stained his own as he pulled away. "I can't."

"I thought I said you didn't deserve to die with him." A low voice growled, and Enjolras turned to face a god with no fear in his eyes and squared shoulders. 

"Hades," he breathed, a righteous anger rising in his throat like vomit. Enjolras had spent years singing and chanting and fighting against him and it seemed poetic for it to end with this, face to face. "We're leaving.

Hades laughed, a chilling cackle escaping cracked lips. Patria trailed behind him, holding his arm in the candlelight.

"Please, have mercy. I know this man," she said. "Enjolras."

"Don't do anything you'll regret," Grantaire said under his breath, just so Enjolras could hear. There was nothing that Enjolras would regret as long as he was fighting. 

"I'm bringing Grantaire home," he said. "We're leaving. Train or walking, we're going."

"Let me tell you something, boy," Hades said, a snarl on his upper lip. "I don't bring people here that don't want to be here. I don't make them work unless they choose to pick up a brick. I don't make demands, I simply give the people what they want. And this young man has chosen safety and work. So let him be."

"I can give him safety." Enjolras swore.

"If you could give him everything he needed, he wouldn't have left."

"Enjolras, I can explain," Grantaire interrupted, but even he knew that Hades was right. "I chose to be here. You need to leave. Go back to Paris, forget about me, and fight."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, unsure how Grantaire could possibly think he would turn around now. "I'm not leaving without you."

Hades laughed again- haunting as ever. "He signed his own life away, young man. There's nothing more for you to do. He didn't think you were coming."

Grantaire hung his head in shame, and Enjolras felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He had made Grantaire feel so unwelcome that he didn't think anybody would notice if he was gone, let alone fight to save him. He told him to go. "Grantaire, I-"

"What do you think happens to trespassers?" Hades snarled to Patria, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. She shivered, not even the finest fur keeping her warm in this hellhole. "To men who break the law? You have no respect for authority."

"Hades, please," Patria held his arm. "Let the boy go."

Enjolras hated to back down from a fight, and he spent his whole life refusing to do just that. But he knew that he was a man and this was a god in a policeman's uniform. Although he wanted desperately to rise above, to be the Apollo that Grantaire saw him for, just for a moment, he felt as though his journey was at an end.

"May I say goodbye?"

Patria answered before Hades could, putting herself on the line. She was caught in the story of the

young lovers. "Yes."

Hades pulled out a pocket watch and began counting down from sixty seconds, turning away. He and Patria slithered away into the night, but only for a minute. They would return.

"There's nothing I can do," Enjolras conceded, hands clamped around Grantaire's shoulders. He almost cried, but he couldn't- Grantaire could not see him any weaker than he already has. "There's nothing I can do."

"There never was," Grantaire responded, voice dry. There were no tears in the shattered remains of his heart to cry. "I did this to myself." 

A pair of lovers only sees each other- even though small candles lined the wall. Grantaire could only see the perfection before him, so much clearer than he ever did before. And Enjolras, though filled with affections he still could not name, pulled Grantaire close, two bodies against each other, for as long as the time would allow.

But beyond Grantaire's shoulder, Enjolras realized that they weren't alone.

As if in a single moment of clarity, Enjolras pulled away and saw that for every candle, there was a life. A person standing nearby, bricks in hand, and their hearts remembering what it was like to love.

Enjolras saw something in them, something he had been seeing for years in his friends. It was power, it was anger, it was revolution.

"The game is fixed, but what if the players could change the rules?" Enjolras muttered, deep in thought. "I believe that power and consent of the governed comes from the people, and that no man or god may withdraw that power from his people by force- to hand necessity over their head until they are compelled to reach up and eat the forbidden fruit."

"Apollo, what are you saying?" Grantaire asked, recognizing the fire in the other and loving the way he burned. For the cynic to fall in love with such a righteous anger- it was all he could do.

"I'm saying that this is no world to live in. Convicts live better lives, and this is how he treats his people, his citizens. He sees you as means to an end, but flesh-

"Despite the rapturous beating of our steadfast hearts." Grantaire recited, almost- almost- believing. And Grantaire looked around him, and he swore he could see the faces of his friends reflected in the chorus of workers around him. He swore that he saw Jehan's eyes and Courfeyrac's braids.

He didn't see Patria and Hades behind closed doors- they had retreated back to the office.

Patria smashed the pocket watch on the floor below.

"What are you so fucking afraid of?" she asked, voice shaking with a forgotten thunder she had let sit and stir for years. "That someone else will remember what it's like to be loved? Like us?"

"We have love."

"No. You think you love me when you love keeping me in a cage. It's all about the rules and the prison and the restraint. If you loved people and if you loved me, you would understand when a man steals a loaf of bread to feed his family and you wouldn't bring him here. You wouldn't have brought Grantaire." She spat, furious that he would purposefully choose a willing target. It wasn't just the fact he was poor that made him the ideal catch, but the fact that he didn't value himself. It was despicable. "You don't love me, you love power."

"So?"

"Have you ever heard Enjolras sing?"    


Enjolras wished for nothing more than a guitar in his hands, knowing it would be the final push, the call, for the people to rise.

He didn't need it. He had Grantaire.

"Vive la Republique."

And the chant began.

"Vive la Republique! Vive la Republique! Down with Hades!"

"What am I hearing?" Hades asked Patria, as he fled from his office, standing on a staircase above the crowd that had gathered. He looked down at them all, and tried not to let his jaw drop. 

"Are you their leader?" He called out below.  
"Yes!" Enjolras wore the title with pride, as he always intended to. 

"You've made quite the impression on my wife. She says you have a song to sing." He barked below. "Sing it for the king."

Enjolras began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the way i originally planned these chapters was to only have 8, but i'm thinking there might end up being 9 because i didn't actually get to include the plot point i intended to in this chapter? it's kind of a filler chapter i guess because not a lot really happens but it's setting up for epic iii so. yeah. again all comments are appreciated!  
> also yes i did have to name the chapter after the les mis reference sue me


End file.
